


Needed Reminder

by Ivyfics (ivyfics)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A little, Established Relationship, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Intense, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Porn with Feelings, magick au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 08:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyfics/pseuds/Ivyfics
Summary: Giving away that they know each other is the last thing they should be doing.Actually, Kuroo rubbing himself against Kei while several high ranking lords of the region wine, dine and drown in debauchery rooms away from them is literally the last thing they should be doing.Kinktober 2018 prompt: Angry sex/ Costume/ Almost getting caught





	Needed Reminder

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Horny Spooky Month! This is my first entry for this kinktober. I don't know how many they'll end up being, but I got some things planned.

“I literally,” he grits out, “cannot believe you.”

“U-huh.”

“I can’t believe _this._ Or me. What do I see in you?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Of course, you aren’t listening to me. You’re too busy jerking off while we’re undercover,” Kei hisses, turning his back to bear his teeth at his partner.

“Can’t help it. You look too good in that.” Kuroo cants his hips against Kei’s backside harder, pushing him against the wall with more force.  “Ah. Push your ass out a little more,” he says. Doesn’t wait for Kei to do so, but uses his hands to pull at his hips and reposition the curve of his back into a deeper arch. “Yeah, like that.”

Kei rolls his eyes before he gets the distinct feeling of something hot and hard grinding against his flesh through the flimsy see-through layers of fabric that adorn his hips. His face goes as red as the strips of chiffon adorning his body. He’s trying his best to be unaffected by this whole _'slamming you against the wall and fucking you with our clothes on'_ thing Kuroo’s got going on right now, but it’s hard. Really hard.

Maybe, if they weren’t in the middle of a mission to recover intel on a ring known to abduct mages and force them into service, he’d be very much more okay with dark-corridor groping.  Or if Kuroo wasn’t pretending to be a trader on the darker side of things looking for a good deal and a gold payoff. Or if Kei wasn’t pretending to be a stuck up royal bitch with a wealthy patron paying for exclusive rights to groping and other various things in order to avoid someone else thinking they could claim that privilege.

Giving away that they know each other is the last thing they should be doing.

Actually, Kuroo rubbing himself against Kei while several high ranking lords of the region wine, dine and drown in debauchery rooms away from them is literally the last thing they should be doing.

Kuroo’s reaction to his attire is over the top.

The outfit—if it can even be called that—is a traditional first dancer’s costume, one that Kei has only worn once before when he was trying it on. The top barely covers his nipples. It focuses more on the ribbons crisscrossing over and around his arms, from shoulders to palms, covered in detailed and intricate beadwork that solidified his false claims of being a dancer legacy needing shelter. The bottom is wide and flowy, the opacity dwindling to nothing but sheer red when it reaches his ankles.

After weeks of living in close quarters with the other dancers, they finally trust him and his “natural abilities” (as Yamaguchi calls him faking his way through everything) enough to let him don it for an event. They made him share first line with the annoying redheaded shrimp and the vain lead with floofy hair for his first official dance with the troupe.  

Nevermind that said vain bitch is also undercover but pretending not to be. Kei can spot someone lying low a mile away. As long as there’s no trouble—or worse yet, a leak—it’s none of Kei’s business who is who and what they’re doing.

Wet trailing over the bare skin that peeks out from his matching undergarments breaks Kei out of his daydreaming. He did _not._ He did absolutely not!

“Kuroo, is that your bare dick on my ass? Don’t you dare get this dirty. I won’t be able to look Yachi in the face ever again.”

He really wouldn’t. There’s something about Kuroo’s cum that marks clothing forever. Kei’s had to magick clean two borrowed outfits before, Yachi’s knowing eyes haunting him forever. He can’t go through with a third one, not without sacrificing the smallest bit of dignity he has left.

Freaking cat spirits and their need to mark everything.

Just as he’s about the say something along the lines of _‘This is not a great idea’_ Kuroo’s hips gain traction. His hands spread Kei’s ass as much as they can and his cock fits against Kei’s hole in a way that has him unable to bite back the loud moan that escapes him. Kuroo’s thrusts get harder and Kei’s feels lucky that his costume doesn’t have bells attached like Hinata’s or they’d be caught immediately.

Seeing as this far south dancers are property of the High Lord, it wouldn’t do them any good to have someone walk in on them and have Kuroo arrested and publicly humiliated, no matter how much Kei wants to wring his neck at the moment.

It’s not like Kuroo is the only one suffering from the distance. Kei is having a hard time too. He’s sharing quarters with two dozen other people, there’s no time or place for him to let off any steam. He hasn’t been able to come at all since he went undercover, most of his time spent trying to gather information to report back. In the spare moments he has time to think about anything other than the mission, he’s wallowing about being so far away from his mate. He’s feeling the stupid cat-spirit-mate-bond separation bullshit too but he _doesn’t_ go about humping people against walls in the middle of a banquet when they’re supposed to be gathering intel.

Kuroo hips haven’t stopped and now Kei is hard against his very tight undergarments meant to conceal this very thing. Fuck.  

“You can fuck me when we get out of this. You are aware of that, right?” He asks, because on missions like this sometimes Kuroo forgets there’s an end to them. That it will stop, and he and Kei will be back to sharing a bed, and a life, and fucking entirely way too much for the comfort of the people sharing a campsite with them.

Kuroo grunts. “Not the same.”

“How the hell not?”

“Now is now, then is then. I’ll fuck you then, anyway.”Kuroo’s hips jerk, pull a muffled moan out of Kei. “Get my cock in that tight hole of yours. Fuck into you until our bed is filthy. Wake up next to you smellin’ like me.”

Kuroo is frantic. His fingers sink into the meat of Kei’s hips and sting. Claws have come out, unbidden by the looks of it, summoned by sheer desperation. It doesn’t hurt. It makes Kei ache a little over how bad it’s gotten on Kuroo’s end. “Kuroo—”

“This is the last one. I’m gonna get you a place, a real one. Nice, too. Stop wandering around looking for trouble. Going to fuck you every day. Live with you—”

Kuroo’s voice is raw. He needs this, needs physical evidence that what they have is reality. “Tetsu—”

Any tenderness sprouting from his heart dies at the sound of a guard's boots against the stone floor. Around the corner, if his hearing is right.

Fear kills his boner and spikes his anger.

Shielding them is easy, doing it in a way that doesn’t trigger the alarms for anything more than low-level magick is a lot harder. Kei keeps it at a level that would be easy for a dancer to have out of sheer skill and the single afternoon he practiced for something like this.

Not _quite_ like this, but some time where he’d need more than wit to get by. Round and wavering, it blinks into existence around them and shimmers with instability for three exact seconds that Kei doesn’t feel his face and feels every inch of the bare cock against his ass.  It settles, a barely-there yellow shine to the borders that will keep any sound inside it hidden from the outside. Anything even a hair more than this will trigger the charms he’s heard of from the maids gossiping and lead every guard around the perimeter right to them.

Kei is angry at everything. At the lot of them. At the guards who keep the status quo and look the other way. At the dancers who stopped fighting, who gave up. At the High Lord for thinking himself above the lives of others.

At being the one who’s wed to a man that couldn’t leave this alone.

He’s angry at himself, for being unable to keep out of this, to not be able to do as everyone else does and look the other way. He wishes he didn’t care. That he could see this happen and feel nothing, have no impulse of his legs to help, no twitching of his magick calling out to right a wrong.

He’s angry that he loves it; the mystery, the tricking, the outsmarting. The moment when he can taste victory.

Kei is angry at all of this, and all of that, but there’s no solving it. Instead, he focuses all of his energy in the fact that he’s angry at Kuroo for making him think about it all, for breaking his will to not _feel_ any of it. Kuroo is right in front of him.

Twisting his body, he untangles Kuroo’s hands still on his hips. They’re face to face, Kei’s back pressed to the coolness of the stone. Kuroo’s face is focused on the bend of the corridor and not on his hard, leaking cock out for everyone to see.

Kei’s thumb grabs his chin and swivels it with force. “Get over here.”

“Tsuk—”

Kei covers Kuroo’s mouth with his free hand. Does it hard, enough for the sound to echo around the bubble Kei’s put around them. He doesn’t know how long the shield will last before he’s forced to shut it down.

Kei leads Kuroo against the wall and grabs his cock, feels the shock and the moan vibrate against his palm. Makes a fist and jerks slow and hard. Strokes mean. Pours all his frustration into it. Every instance he’s had to sit there and think about Kuroo. All the times he’s had to suck it up for the sake of what they’re doing. All those moments where he’s scared, and lying, and alone.

They have put so much on the line, put themselves in harm's way.

He’s had to deal with the fact that Kuroo could die any day pretending to be something he’s not with people who oppose everything he stands for and Kei wouldn’t even know. He wouldn’t hear about it for days, stuck in a room with people in shitty situations and no hope left in their gaze.

And they’re going to risk it, for what?

For a quick backroom fuck?

Kuroo’s fangs come out. They nick his palm just enough for it to sting and Kuroo laps the blood with a whine. The neediness from before translates into Kuroo’s face, in the pinch of his brow. He uncovers Kuroo’s mouth to wipe the single tear tracking down his cheek.

“Kei—I’m,” Kuroo stammers.

Kei goes harder. Put his thumb against the head of Kuroo’s cock, purple and slick, and slides it hard. Keeps him on edge just a tad because he knows how. He’s the keeper of that knowledge and Kuroo needs a reminder.

He’s not about to give this up so easily. They’re stronger than that.

Kuroo comes all over Kei’s hand with a choked groan and stuttering hips.

Kei owns this. No amount of resigned dancers or piss-poor High Lords snatching people up is going to take this away from him.

Kuroo stands there. His chest is expanding quickly, cheeks flushed and rosy, sweat glistening in the low light.

It’s not enough.

Kei holds up his dirtied hand to Kuroo’s face.

Kuroo’s tongue is rough. Little pricks scrape Kei’s fingers, lapping up every drop of white slow. He goes about it carefully, reverently, going over every finger, his palm, to that stray drop running down Kei’s arm until his skin is pink from the attention.

Kuroo finishes with a slow kiss to Kei’s palm. His eyes are closed, his breathing even.

It’s cathartic. A reassurance that they’re together right now. Still each other’s, even if they have to pretend otherwise in front of everyone else. He hopes it’s enough for Kuroo’s heart to settle back down.

Kuroo sighs against him. “Thank you. Sorry.”

He rolls his eyes and tucks Kuroo back in his breeches. “Let’s go, before we get murdered.”

Kei keeps his anger away in a box. Wraps strings around it tight, until there’s nothing in his heart but calm. He’ll use it when the time comes. Fuel his magick with it, with Kuroo’s desperate face. Now there’s no place for it.

Kuroo fiddles with his dancer’s costume—and that’s what it is to him, no matter how genuine it might be—until it’s clear that he’s stalling. He gives Kei a lopsided smile that is more half real than not and takes a step back. Then another. Kuroo steps back until the very edge of the bubble. The distance between them is a proper one. A respectful one between a fine standing merchant and taken dancer. One to prevent misunderstandings.

They’re excellent at what they do. Kuroo transforms, his eyes detached.

Kei hates it.

“Tetsurou, I love you so much,” he says. Lets the shield drop immediately after.

Kuroo’s indignant expression at his inability to respond makes him hate the space between them a little less.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on:  
> [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/ivyfics)  
> [Tumblr ](http://ivyfics.tumblr.com/)


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